My nephilim
by Alec Tokaku
Summary: Alec manages not to cry out, but he shudders and he knows, knows Asmodeus felt it. "You're not going to say no," Asmodeus breathes, "because you like belonging to me. You like your masters to take what's theirs, don't you, Alexander?"


"Tell me, Alec," Asmodeus says, casual as you please, "would you consider taking a demon to your bed?"

Alec blinks. He's learned to expect the unexpected from Asmodeus , but that hadn't covered this.

He doesn't—the last person to touch him was Magnus, and before that was his first. He doesn't let people do this. But Asmodeus isn't _people,_ and if anyone is capable of understanding that Alec is a man, it certainly is Asmodeus.

"You're thinking," Asmodeus says. His hand still rests at Alec's belt. "Unpleasant thoughts. Put them away."

Alec focuses on the demons face again, on his depthless dark eyes. Asmodeus is nothing like Magnus, but he thinks that, probably, Asmodeus could be good to him.

And he wants to be good for Asmodeus, but that's a thought he can't afford to dwell on.

Asmodeus slim fingers curve around the back of his waist. "My dear Alexander," he says. His breath smells of salt and smoke. "I want you to have this. Show me this. Show me your devotion."

Alec's face burns. "I'm not devoted to you," he says automatically, but Asmodeus chuckles.

"You wear my mark so well," he says, as if Alec had said nothing. "Such a good show. Such bravery and cunning, such pain and thirst for vengeance." His gloved fingertips have somehow gone right through Alec's coat, through his bindings, to glide along the path of his spine. The back of Alec's left hand tingles.

"And if I decline to put on this particular show?" Alec says, trying for irritation.

Asmodeus smile gleams like a crescent moon, like a fishhook. "Why would you?" He presses closer, strokes Alec's cheek

"Because you're annoying," Alec says. Heat twists in his gut, tightens his thighs. "Because you're a demanding, jumped-up hagfish and if you wanted to watch humans fuck, you could go spy on—"

Asmodeus settles a gloved hand around Alec's throat and squeezes gently. Alec manages not to cry out, but he shudders and he knows, _knows_ Asmodeus felt it.

"You're not going to say no," Asmodeus breathes, "because you like belonging to me. You like your masters to take what's theirs, don't you, Alexander?"

He can't respond. He can't breathe—not because the demon is choking him, no, he's being very delicate—but because all he can think of is Magnus strong hands on him, of sobbing out _yours_ in half a hundred different rooms, in every season of the year.

"You're a tricky little puzzle, Alexander Lightwood, but I think I have this part unlocked," says Asmodeus smugly. "You are mine, are you not?" He stares at Alec.

Alec can't quite bring himself to respond, not with Magnus so fresh in his mind.

"You are always his," Asmodeus soothes. "I see him imprinted in your soul like shrapnel in a wound, my dear. Now show me what you give to those who own you."

He's still so close, and Alec's entire body seems to vibrate with skin-hunger. The Mark throbs, and his cock aches, and he's so wet he can feel himself swollen.

"You are mine, aren't you," the demon prompts.

Alec shuts his eyes and leans forward. "I'm yours," he says. His voice cracks.

Asmodeus draws a long, shuddering breath and surges forward to enfold him.

It doesn't feel like a human embrace, exactly; while Alec's eyes are closed, Asmodeus form seems to shift. Whatever he may be becoming, he is strong and solid and burns hot, like a hearthfire in winter. Too hot, as if he's tried to make himself warm like a human and muffed it.

But Asmodeus hand on his jaw feels exactly like any man's, and his kiss feels like a kiss, and Alec opens for his tongue immediately. Being touched is ruining him; his hips shift, seeking purchase. He aches, in the inside places he doesn't like to think about.

 _Yes._ Asmodeus voice rings in his mind, even as the demons soft lips and sharp teeth press against his own mouth. _Oh, yes. All that delicious need…_

Alec makes a noise into the demons mouth that probably isn't a squeak. Strong hands smooth down his back, warm, tracing his scars.

 _Such a good worshiper. Your service means more to me than any prayer._ Asmodeus laughs, nuzzles behind his jaw, licks at his throat.

Alec tips his head back and clings as Asmodeus bites into his neck. The pain hits him in a blinding rush, then subsides into sensitivity.

"Fuck," he says. "Oh, fuck, _stop_ it…"

Asmodeus doesn't stop, because Alec didn't mean it, and he rips at his shoulders as the nephilim squirms helplessly in his grip. He doesn't remember pain feeling this good. He doesn't remember ever feeling so… open, practically liquid below the waist.

He opens his eyes. Asmodeus smiles with sharp teeth and gives him a little wave. His grip doesn't slacken in the least

Alec is about to make some comment on their location when Asmodeus grabs his hair and pulls.

"Ah!"

He curls toward the demon, hips pressing down. He can feel suppressed words start to bubble in his chest, things like _please._

Asmodeus obligingly slides his thigh between Alec's and keeps biting him. With his eyes open, Alec sees crescents of bloody toothmarks appear and disappear in seconds, healing as Asmodeus leaves them. The pain is stinging and bright, like cuts always are, and he gasps with it.

Asmodeus lifts his head suddenly, mouth bloody from biting and flushed from kissing. "Eager, my dear?" he says, and digs his fingers into Alec's hip, holding him still. The nephilim hadn't realized how hard he was grinding against the demon.

Eyes lidded, the god leans even closer and breathes, "How will you show me proper reverence?" There's more than a hint of a smirk on his face, damnably.

"Don't make me choose," Alec manages. "Are you mad? I can't fucking _think."_ Asmodeus yanks his hair again and he cries out gladly.

"Behave, Alexander."

Alec wants to tell him that he will, but he's pulling his hair again and it's awfully hard to do anything, much less talk.

Asmodeus smooth voice runs on in his ears: "—make you pleasure me, my dear one, I don't think you'd mind if it scared you." He shakes him. "Hmm?"

Alec nods, dazed. He's definitely naked now, with the exception of his chest bindings—that's a relief, he's never liked to take them off for sex—and he sort of wonders how Asmodeus might know that. Decides not to wonder.

The fabric of Asmodeus pants is rough against his bare skin, and their seams snag the hairs on his thighs. Asmodeus gestures, though, and then it's skin against supernaturally sleek, hot skin.

When Alec looks down between them, he can't quite tell what he's seeing. He sees his own pale legs tangled with Asmodeus brown ones, and there's a twist of dark hair, and—well, Asmodeus has _something_ between his legs, but Alec eyes slide off it, and his brain presents him with a tangle of sense impressions instead of a visual: salt tang, heat, sliding friction, sweat and musk.

Alec has just enough presence of mind to assume that something strange is going on there, and then Asmodeus gathers him close for more bruising kisses, and digs his fingernails into Alec's waist, and then he isn't thinking. He clings, feeling small and helpless, and rocks his hips against the god's. Fits his legs around Asmodeus hips and hears the voice in his mind growling in satisfaction.

It's getting harder not to talk; truthfully, the only reason Alec isn't babbling is that he doesn't have quite enough brain left for it. He's so wet. He's so wet it's starting to smear across his thighs, and he feels like his cock could scratch glass, and Asmodeus arousal presses up against him, cruelly teasing.

 _Alec_ _, look at you._ Asmodeus cages him in, all hunger. Hand between Alec's thighs. _Oh, look at you. Terror of a city, but your only wish is to be mounted like the loyal little hound you are._ Fingers curl up into him; he feels his mouth fall open, panting. _When I talk about you like that, it gets worse, doesn't it? Senseless. Greedy. Mine. And you aren't like this for just anyone._

He whines. Asmodeus pulls his hand away. Something holds Alec's legs open, his arms behind his back. Tangles in his hair and pulls until he cries out weakly. He can't tell if his eyes are open or closed anymore; either way he would see Asmodeus floating before him, naked and grinning and terrifying.

 _Beautiful._ Asmodeus strokes his face, pets his lips until he opens his jaws, pushes his fingers into Alec's mouth. Fucks his mouth for a few long strokes and then pulls away.

"Please," Alec says.

"Are you sure?" Asmodeus asks, a parody of concern.

"Oh, please," he says, and he struggles to get closer. "I—" Long habit keeps him quiet. He's never been able to talk as much as he wanted.

"There's no one to hide from here," Asmodeus tells him, "no reason to save face." His hand falls between Alec's legs again, brushing lightly over him.

Alec shakes. He thinks his heart might burst before Asmodeus ever lets him come. "I need you to touch me," he whispers, heartbeat heavy in his face. "Whatever you want. Please."

"Whatever I want?" says the demon, tilting his head.

"You know I can't refuse you," Alec tells him.

Asmodeus strokes the back of Alec's hand, where the Mark is, and something flares inside him, setting him shivering. "Then beg me, sweetheart. Such a quiet man. Set that tongue free. All hidden desire is mine, and you know it. Speak."

For a moment, he can't. Then he catches his breath and says plainly, "Fuck me." He can almost feel it in his imagination: spread open around Asmodeus, pressure and friction like his fingers never gave him. "You—you must know no one's ever— just with a strap-on—I think I'm going to die if you don't, what did you do to me?"

He's not lying. The ache in the center of his hips hurts, his cock pulses, he can't keep his hips still. Animal need rises in his throat, and he lets it: whines for Asmodeus, cries out ugly with want. The god answers in his mind with a laugh, and waits.

"You didn't do anything," Alec confesses. "I know. It's—ah, ah, it's just me, this is just how I am—" He squeezes his muscles tight on nothing, shakes as he tries to pull his legs in against his restraints.

"More," says Asmodeus, curling silkily around his back. "Further."

Alec arches his back, pushes his ass out, trying to rub up on Asmodeus cock. "I'm—I need this. I need you, please, I want to be more yours, more owned." His voice is unrecognizable. "Oh god, fuck me. Just do it, fucking mount me, I'm yours, you know it, so yours— _oh god."_

Something hot and hard presses against his cunt and he tries desperately to slam his hips down. He can't move enough, though, and he ends up rubbing against Asmodeus dick, teasing himself.

Asmodeus growls. _Good boy._

"Oh my god," Alec slurs. His heart beats frighteningly hard, and he's shaky and taut, on the edge but nowhere near actually coming. "You own me, please. Please. I'm good for you, I swear."

 _And now you prove it,_ Asmodeus tells him, and pushes deep into Alec.

Alec's never felt anything quite like it. Magnus didn't have that kind of warmth , much less the burning eerie heat of his father. And Asmodeus sinks into him with a slick twisting motion, all boneless, effortless strength—

Oh. Asmodeus doesn't have human equipment. Of course. Alec thinks this, and then he lets his head drop forward and just pants as Asmodeus rocks into him. There's a feeling there, cradled in his hips, tight pressure building where Asmodeus coils himself. Tentacles. Of course. He's being held and fucked in a god's tentacles.

Perversely, his first emotion is awe. It must be keen and strong, because Asmodeus accepts this tribute with a sigh of pleasure against Alec's ear. _That's it, little one. Mine._

The stretch is just enough to add an edge of pain, and Asmodeus fills him as deeply as he can manage. Alec writhes into his motions, welcomes him in. Loses himself entirely, becomes shaped by Asmodeus touches and thrusts and snarls of desire.

A sleek, wet coil of muscle pets at his ass, insinuates itself into his hole. Alec sobs gratefully—he's so full now, so fucking full, and Asmodeus jolting his entire frail human body with his motions, forcing himself deeper and deeper.

Asmodeus moans, in Alec's head and all around him, and the sound sends a narcotic rush of pleasure through him.

 _Perfect. Such a wet and willing little sacrifice. Such a delectable treat, dear Alexandee, you take so readily to my touch—_

Alec loses time. Asmodeus has him in a trance, practically, muscles slack. He rests in Asmodeus arms like a toy, achingly close. The only thing anchoring him is the demons constant murmuring and throaty, bone-melting groans: _Good boy, Alexander, so good, such perfect yielding to me, such reverent pleasure, I can feel how close you are, reward you, such devotion—_

And then Asmodeus tips him facedown and kicks his legs open wider and Alec (suddenly facedown on the purple cloth covering a shrine) yelps as the angle of Asmodeus tentacles shifts inside him. From there, it doesn't take long.

His hips start to bruise from the force Asmodeus puts into his thrusts; his back lights on fire as Asmodeus claws at him. The tentacles pulse oddly, then thicken, then pulse, then thicken _more._

Alec comes as the pressure builds to a sweet, unbearable peak.

His eyes definitely roll back. His vision's gone. He shakes and gasps and locks up around the demon, and just as he starts to come down, he feels—

Fuller, and hotter inside, and _messy._ Something starts to patter onto the floor. Asmodeus grabs at him, and Alec understands.

The psychic backlash of Asmodeus orgasm hits him a moment later: blistering human heat and willing submission, purple lights burning behind his/Asmodeus eyes, resonating smug pleasure, tight shuddering satisfaction, marking.

Alec falls out of Asmodeus-vision and back into his own body, where he shivers and lies limply as Asmodeus coils around him and keeps coming. He manages to look down between his own legs at some point.

 _Oh, Alexander, Alexander,_ croons Asmodeus, voice rich with delight. Iridescent liquid drips down Alec's thighs, puddles on the floor. _Fill you, mark you, only one marked like this… Never let you go, mine, my little follower, initiate you like this._ His tentacles twitch and shudder, and Alec whimpers.

"Too much," he says hoarsely.

 _Not enough,_ says Asmodeus. He smiles at Alec, teeth longer and sharper than ever before. Shadows creep and curl up Alec's legs, around his arms. One encircles his throat, just snug enough to make his heart pound.

 _Will you give me more? Does your loyalty go this far?_

His body aches; his cock buzzes with closes his blue eyes, feeling something like relief.

"Yes," he says, and Asmodeus descends on him and pulls him into the deep.


End file.
